


say no more, say no more

by sodasoda



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodasoda/pseuds/sodasoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is sweet on Cobb, and tries to work the courage to 'hit' on him. Arthur is amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say no more, say no more

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [saintdogstreet](http://saintdogstreet.livejournal.com/).

“I’ll be right back,” says Cobb with a chuckle, standing up from his stool to make his way to the bar across the room.  
  
Eames watches him go, still smiling fondly at the change of air around him- how he walks with his shoulders loose and relaxed instead of tense and together, how he walks like a man with _meaning_ in his life instead of despair.  
  
When Cobb reaches the bar, motioning for the bartender, he turns around to look at them and raises an eyebrow, mouthing, ‘ _Same thing?_ ’  
  
Eames looks down at his almost empty glass of Guinness and nods, sees Arthur do the same in the corner of his eye.  
  
Cobb flashes them a smile, and it makes Eames do the same. It seems to be like a spark, a flame for moths, because as soon as it happens, a man walks up to Cobb with a wide smile and a glint in his eyes. Eames watches Cobb’s eyes widen in surprise, flickering towards them for a brief second as his mouth curves into a slight frown.  
  
Then he slides into a composure that Eames recognises as his polite one.  
  
“That’s been happening a lot,” sighs Arthur and Eames turns to him in surprise.  
  
“What, Cobb being hit on by jailbait?”  
  
Arthur gives him a long suffering look, downing the rest of his drink. “Yes, Eames, I forgot to inform you that Cobb has become a beacon to underage youth who look for an older man to exploit them.”  
  
He smirks, knowing exactly what to say to annoy Arthur. “Really? I’ve got to get me some of that.”  
  
“ **Eames**.”  
  
“Oh, come off it, Arthur. _Relax_ , I’ll keep your conversation rolling- What? You mean Cobb getting hit on?”  
  
“Yeah,” says Arthur, slipping back into the conversation with ease, as if Eames hadn’t disrupted him two seconds ago. He feels the zing of annoyance under his skin, that he often gets when around Arthur, and shakes it out with a flex of his wrist.  
  
“Ever since that Fischer job, he’s really learnt how to...” Arthur rolls his right hand in the air, “let go. Be happy? I think the positive change in his demeanour attracts a lot of people. There isn’t a day when I’m with him where he isn’t approached by someone.”  
  
“Isn’t that good for him then? Maybe he can be happy again,” Eames says, pulling his arms up above his head in a long stretch.  
  
Maybe if Cobb wants to be happy again then Eames might have a chance.  
  
“I think he’s happy with his kids,” says Arthur, eyebrows drawn together, a contemplative look on his face.  
  
“Are you jealous?” teases Eames, even though his stomach is rolling at the concern emanating from Arthur; how troubled he looks at the topic of Cobb being happy and in love with someone else other than the late Mrs. Cobb.  
  
But then Arthur rolls his eyes, looking put off.  
  
“Let’s not go there.”  
  
Eames blinks at him. “Are you saying you don’t find the boss attractive?”  
  
Arthur shrugs, finger tracing the rim of his glass. “It’s not that he’s _not_ attractive, I appreciate his looks, but it’s that _I’m_ not attracted to him.”  
  
“Are you blind, man?” laughs Eames, the tension unwinding from him like unspooling wool. He waves a hand in front of Arthur’s eyes in a playful attempt to see if he actually is blind, because even though, thank God, Arthur isn’t attracted to Cobb, how can he _not_ be attracted to Cobb? It’s crazy. But Arthur’s face remains poker straight and he stops, lowers his hand to the table. “You’re not. Well, fuck, _I’d_ hit that.”  
  
It’s out now, in the open, and Eames feels like he’s just staked his claim on Cobb. He smirks, razor sharp, to hide his nervousness, almost challenging Arthur to question it but Arthur doesn’t do anything like that. Instead he raises an eyebrow, mouth tilted to the side and says, “I didn’t know he was your type.”  
  
“What can I say,” murmurs Eames, turning his head to duck away from Arthur’s curious stare, and finds Cobb flushing under the same man’s attention, looking as though he’s almost to the point of cracking his civil demeanour, “I’m versatile.”  
  
“If only your versatility stretched beyond your ability to forge and your choice in sexual conquests, Eames, then you would be much more of a formidable asset to the team,” drawls Arthur, turning back to his usual self and Eames can’t help it, he turns back to pinch Arthur’s bicep, making him jump in his seat, jerking his arm away.  
  
“Do try to be less condescending, Arthur,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes against Arthur’s scowl, “It’s quite unbecoming of you.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have needed to resort to it if my company didn’t deserve it,” scoffs Arthur, frowning at him. “Anyway, I don’t think you should… ‘hit’ Cobb.”  
  
Eames furrows his brows in confusion. “What are you- Oh. Right. Arthur, I think you need to learn the proper use of slang in sentences, and _why_ not?”  
  
“I know perfectly well how to construct my sentence to accommodate teenage euphemisms, Eames, and because. It’s _Cobb_. You know what he’s like. You’ve known what he’s like for a long time, and you’re still friends to this day. Wouldn’t having a ‘fling’ with him disturb the relationship you have?”  
  
“Hold up,” says Eames, putting a hand up to stop Arthur blabbering. “I- _what_ \- who said I was going to fuck him and then leave him?”  
  
“Blunt as always,” says Arthur, grimacing at his choice of words. “Okay, well then, are you saying you want to start something with him?”  
  
And isn’t that just the catch. That if he doesn’t want to have a one night stand with Cobb, it means he wants to have something more. His heart lurches at the thought, coming up to the bottom of his throat. He’s not sure if the idea abhors him or frightens him.  
  
He turns to look at Cobb, who has managed to deflect the stranger away and have the bartender take his order. He’s trying to walk back to them with the three glasses held delicately within the connection of his fingers. When he catches Eames looking at him, he breaks out into a brilliant smile and Eames’ heart shifts from the end of his throat to almost out of his mouth.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispers, shifting in his seat, his fingers creeping to chips lying in his pocket.  
  
“What?” asks Arthur, and Eames gives him a quick glance, see Arthur follows his line of sight at Cobb, and says, “Oh,” before someone steps right up to Cobb, putting a hand to his hip.  
  
They watch Cobb almost jump in surprise, see how he refrains from doing so by tightening his hold on the glasses. Eames can tell by the way Cobb is holding his body, the way his right hand twitches that he wants to pull out his Beretta, holstered away on the side of his waistband.  
  
Before Eames even knows what he’s doing, he’s standing up and making his way towards Cobb.  
  
“Let me help you, love,” he says, giving the man glaring at him a nonchalant sideways glance before taking two glasses away, freeing Cobb’s right hand. He quirks an eyebrow at Cobb, who quirks one back, and steps away, back to the table. He places one of the glasses in front of Arthur, heart suddenly thundering in his chest and shakily set down his own one.  
  
“Not going to protect his virtue?” asks Arthur with a small smile on his face.  
  
“He can take care of himself,” says Eames, grimacing at Arthur’s words. “I just didn’t want him to have a handicap.”  
  
They both glance back at Cobb and sure enough, the stranger has taken away his hand, face white with fear, mumbling something as Cobb nods and grins at him. The man steps away slowly and the sweet smile Cobb gives him sends shivers down Eames’ spine. His hand goes under his jacket smoothly, probably holstering his gun, and he makes his way towards them, glass raised in greeting.  
  
“Sorry guys,” he says, sliding onto his seat, “I sometimes forget what people are like in the more crowded L.A. bars.  
  
“Think nothing of it, mate,” says Eames, holding his glass up, “To good times.”  
  
Arthur catches his eye as he lifts his glass too and there’s a glint in them that makes Eames uncomfortable as they all clink their glasses together.  
  
-  
  
Eames leans against the door frame, watching Arthur who’s a foot away from him; face turned out to the streets, looking for his taxi.  
  
“So,” says Arthur, glancing at him, “you’re staying here for a few more days.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t have anywhere to be at the moment.”  
  
They both know it’s a lie.  
  
“Are you going to do it today?”  
  
Eames twists his mouth into a frown and looks out at the street instead of Arthur’s face. Thoughts race through his head, a thousand scenarios are set up in his mind for the conclusion of this situation and not one of them has a happy ending.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“Afraid of rejection?”  
  
“Like you don’t already know,” scowls Eames, annoyed.  
  
Arthur puts his duffel down, the only bag he brought with him, and pulls Eames into a half hug, hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades. “It’ll be okay, Eames. We’ve talked about this.”  
  
Eames pulls a face but hugs Arthur back anyway, sighing into his shoulder before they pull apart. “And you said I shouldn’t hit that if I recall right.”  
  
“We’ve had more than one conversation,” says Arthur, as if he’s gently reminding Eames of his sleepless nights, trudging into Arthur’s room to wake him up so they could wallow in his misery together. “But I’ve told you,” Arthur smiles softly at him, “I’m sure he won’t object.”  
  
“I’m beginning to believe that you like feeding me lies, Arthur.”  
  
“Do try not to lie about how I lie, Eames, it’s quite unbecoming of you.”  
  
“You’re a little shite sometimes, do you know that?” asks Eames, grinning.  
  
Arthur grins back. “I’ve been told a few times by an elderly gentleman.”  
  
“Fuck you!” shouts Eames, smiling wide now, throwing a punch at Arthur who dodges it and punches him in the shoulder. They scuffle for a few seconds, the two of them on Cobb’s porch, bound to horrify his neighbours, and then sigh, breaking apart.  
  
“The kids’ll be angry that you left without goodbye.”  
  
“I know,” says Arthur, giving him a wry smile, “but the only way you two are going to have alone time is if I leave during a school day when school is in session.”  
  
“Traffic will be hell.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You could be late.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Your plane could crash.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I wish I could hate you.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I wish we never had that first conversation, then I wouldn’t be stuck in this situation.”  
  
Arthur looks over at him, smiling, “No, you don’t.”  
  
“You don’t know that.”  
  
“I _know_.”  
  
Eames is about throw out another insult at Arthur but a yellow car speeds around the curve and comes to an abrupt halt in front of the house, sounding the horn, loud and long.  
  
“Bloody taxi drivers,” swears Eames and then he shouts, “Wait a bloody minute!”  
  
The horn sounds again, louder if possible and longer, and Eames is about to give the guy a piece of his mind until Arthur presses a palm to his chest.  
  
“Eames, it’s okay. I should be going anyway. Wouldn’t want to be late, right?”  
  
Eames blinks at Arthur, and nods, relaxing. “Yeah. Right.”  
  
“It’s okay,” says Arthur, pulling his hand away to pick up his duffel. “Taxi drivers can bring the worst out of anyone.”  
  
“Unless they’re you or Cobb, then they’re just dangerous.”  
  
Arthur laughs this time, eyes crinkling, “Goodbye, Eames, I hope to see you around the next time I come to visit.”  
  
Eames has a feeling that if Arthur had a hat, he’d tip it but instead he gives Eames another smile and walks off towards the taxi, opening the door and slipping in.  
  
He watches the car drive away, disappear around the corner and walks back into the house. There are butterflies in his stomach, wings fluttering rapidly against the lining and he stares out the backdoor in panic, feeling the threat of nerves coming up to his throat.  
  
He makes a beeline for the bathroom, sliding in front of the sink to splash cold water onto his face, hoping to calm down. He stares at himself in the mirror, watches the water trickle down his face, soaking the neck of his shirt.  
  
“I can do this,” he says to his reflection, “I’m a criminal, an illegal forger, a thief in dreams. I’m not allowed in fifteen different cities around the world. I’m like an actor. Only I get paid more. Or is it less? I- I’m bloody talking to myself like a git.”  
  
He’s about to swear at himself some more but the distinct sound of the front door opening and the rattling of keys means that Cobb’s back from the school run.  
  
“Arthur? Eames?” he calls as if they were his children and Eames walks out to see Cobb setting his keys upon the plastic hook by the calendar on the wall.  
  
“Morning,” he greets and Cobb turns in surprise, hand pressed to his chest.  
  
“Christ, Eames, why didn’t you call back when I called out?”  
  
Eames shrugs, hand coming up to wipe the still dripping water off his face.  
  
Cobb frowns at that but doesn’t say anything. Instead he makes for the coffee machine in the kitchen.  
  
“Is Arthur still asleep?” he asks, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and setting it beside his own one that’s already out.  
  
“Arthur’s gone,” says Eames, eyes glued to Cobb’s backside, tracing the curve of his ass.  
  
Cobb turns to look at him with wide eyes. “He’s what?”  
  
“Calm down, I meant gone as in he left, as in left for a job. An urgent job.”  
  
Cobb narrows his eyes at him, and Eames can see how he’s not completely convinced.  
  
“Did he say anything else?”  
  
“Only that it was in Auckland. And that it was important enough that he had to leave as soon as possible.”  
  
“And he’s not in trouble? You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?”  
  
Eames smiles fondly at how protective Cobb is of Arthur and shakes his head. “Trust me, if he really was, I wouldn’t have just let him go to ‘Auckland’ on his own. Besides, he’s 30, Cobb.”  
  
“I know,” sighs Cobb, turning back to the machine, pouring coffee into the two mugs. “But he’s been with me for a long time, and we’ve done dangerous things. It’s hard not to worry.”  
  
“So you don’t worry about me then?” asks Eames in a teasing tone but his heart’s beating double time in anticipation of Cobb’s answer.  
  
“You?” asks Cobb, smiling, bringing the mugs to the dining table and gesturing Eames to sit with him. “I’ve known you since you were a snobby little ten year old wannabe actor, Eames, I worry about you _all_ the time.”  
  
“Ha ha, L.A.”  
  
“Oh, so now we’re resorting to childhood nicknames, are we?”  
  
“No,” says Eames, taking a seat, forcing a smile at Cobb, “no, we’re not. You know how much I hate my other name.”  
  
Cobb’s expression goes soft and he takes a sip from his mug, eyes sliding away. “Do you have any job offers yet?”  
  
“No,” says Eames, shaking his head even though he already has three lined up after the one they’ve just done.  
  
They share a quiet moment, sipping at their coffee mugs.  
  
Cobb stands up halfway through, puttering around the kitchen, taking cookies from the cabinet and setting some on a plate and one in his mouth. He puts the plate in front of Eames then moves to stand in front of the fridge, cocking his hip to one side while looking over the papers stuck to its surface.  
  
All Eames can think of as he watches Cobb do all that, is bending him over the table, or slamming him against the fridge and just- just making him beg. He feels himself going hard and wills his mind to think of something else. When that doesn’t happen, he thinks, fuck that, and stands up, making the chair skitter backwards.  
  
“Cobb,” he starts, putting a hand on his shoulder, ready to turn him around and slam up against him, but Cobb puts up a hand, says, “Hold up, Eames.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“This paper,” says Cobb, still looking at it, oblivious to Eames’ plan, “it says that Phillipa’s contributing a cake to the ‘After School Bake Sale’.”  
  
“And? Just buy a cake,” says Eames, now annoyed that when he finally, _finally_ decides to do this, Cobb stops him with some ridiculous-  
  
“She wants a home-made cake,” says Cobb, tapping the paper. “She wrote it on the note; ‘No store cakes, daddy!’ I think she might have said something this morning.”  
  
Eames sighs, resigned, and promises himself that he’ll try again next time because this is important, this is _Phillipa_ , Cobb’s daughter, the bundle of sunshine that asks for hugs every time she sees him. “Okay, so when is this bake sale?”  
  
“Shit,” swears Cobb, turning to look at him, “It’s today.”  
  
“But you don’t know anything about making cakes.”  
  
It might be possible that Cobb’s eyes go round, almost teary, and his lips purse together just that tiny bit. It might be possible that Eames is in no way immune to Cobb’s puppy dog look.  
  
He groans, cursing his weak will, and rolls up his sleeves, “Okay. Let’s do this.”  
  
-  
  
It’s been three days since the first time Eames tried to have sex with Cobb and it seems like someone out there doesn’t want it to happen.  
  
Every time Eames picks up the courage to make his move- something seems to come up and Cobb would have to tell Eames to wait.  
  
They only have six hours of the house to themselves during weekdays and that’s the only time Eames will even think about trying to seduce Cobb. The thought of having sex with Cobb while the kids are in the vicinity of the house is just wrong.  
  
Even he knows that.  
  
Today doesn’t seem any different. Cobb’s in-laws are back in the states and Cobb had taken the whole family out to dinner two hours ago. He had asked Eames to join them but at Eames’ raised eyebrow, laughed and nodded. He informed Eames that he’d be back soon and that the kids were to stay with their grandparents, per their request.  
  
It kind of made him wish that Mrs. Cobb was still alive.  
  
He remembers the days he’d leave from his own bedroom window to get to Cobb’s house, throwing rocks at his window before climbing in and huddling with Cobb beneath his blanket. It seemed as though Mrs. Cobb always knew when he was there because there was always a place for him made at their breakfast table.  
  
The front door rattles open and Eames think they should really do something about the noise, or maybe the noise is actually a precaution for burglary but he doubts Cobb meant it- then stops thinking when Cobb comes into view. He looks like a hot mess, hair out of place, tie undone, shirt untucked, and Eames can’t take it anymore.  
  
It’s now or never. Again.  
  
He stands up from the sofa and strides purposely towards Cobb. When he reaches the man, he pushes him against the wall with his body.  
  
“Cobb,” he breathes, crowding against him, angling his hips just so they barely meet, “the things you make me want to do to you.”  
  
When Cobb doesn’t respond, Eames pulls back to look at him. Cobb stares back, body held taut against Eames’. He’s looking into Eames’ eyes like he’s searching for something golden, for some truth and there’s a flicker in his expression before a smile blooms on his face.  
  
The tension fades from his body, and he goes lax against the wall.  
  
“Well,” he starts, putting a hand on Eames’ shoulder, “I’m not objecting.”  
  
Eames thrust his hips tight against Cobb’s at his permission and groans at the friction. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that to you ever since the Inception job, when you went all alpha- big time leader wanted to assert his position, huh?” teases Eames, licking a line down Cobb’s throat. His fingers pull the tie undone, undoing the buttons on the dress shirt, mouthing down the exposed skin.  
  
“Hush,” groans Cobb, head falling back against the wall. “Less talk, more fuck.”  
  
Eames laughs against Cobb’s nipple, huffing wet breaths on it before pulling it into his mouth, tongue swirling around the nub. He shivers at the sound Cobb makes, a sort of keening noise, as his fingers scrabble at the short hairs on the nape of his neck.  
  
“Sensitive, huh,” breathes Eames, pulling away, fingers replacing his mouth, twisting and pulling.  
  
Cobb just grunts, thrusting his hips forward against Eames’ abdomen, searching for friction.  
  
“Bloody hell,” he swears, watching Cobb’s face as he drags his nails down the man’s chest, “you’re so responsive.”  
  
At that, he gets Cobb’s knee to his groin, the force hard enough to elicit a grunt from him.  
  
“There’s only so much talk you can get away with,” pants Cobb, hand warm on Eames’ chest, a flush high on his cheeks.  
  
“I think I can get away with a lot of things,” grins Eames, moving back into his space, up his body.  
  
“Bedroom,” gasps Cobb into Eames’ mouth when they kiss, biting at his bottom lip but Eames shakes his head.  
  
“We aren’t going anywhere, love,” he says, pushing off Cobb’s jacket, letting it pool at their feet. He eyes the unbuttoned dress shirt, the way it frames Cobb’s torso, wondering if he should take it off too but decides against it and goes for Cobb’s pants instead.  
  
When the slacks hit the ground, Eames goes down on his knees with them. He mouths at Cobb’s hipbones, licking the line of the protrusion and moves off to lick at the head of his cock, taking it into his mouth. It’s slightly salty on his tongue, and when he slides down, near the base, all he smells is musk.  
  
Eames bobs his head, keeping a steady suction that makes Cobb squirm, whimpering. Cobb’s hips jerk forward, making him gag, and Eames pulls away, scowling.  
  
“Sorry,” pants Cobb from behind the hand he’s biting, looking a mess, and Eames finds he can’t get mad when Cobb looks like that. So he plants his forearm across Cobb’s hips, pinning them, and once he’s sure Cobb won’t be able to move, he sucks him all the way down, hollowing out his cheeks.  
  
Cobb grabs hold of his hair as he writhes in pleasure, crying into his hand. Eames keeps working him, trying to get him to be louder, to break his little muffling game, but Cobb seems adamant to be semi-quiet so he pulls off with a wet pop, hand replacing his mouth with firm strokes.  
  
“Why are you keeping so quiet, love? Don’t be shy, I like it loud.” He leers at Cobb, licking his lips, and laughs when he gets a slap on the shoulder, Cobb glaring at him.  
  
“We are not making amateur porn, Eames, there is no need for… _noises_ and cheesy lines.”  
  
“But I _really_ want to hear you appreciate my mouth,” protests Eames, thumbing the head of Cobb’s cock.  
  
Cobb grunts at him, pushing Eames away to push him flat on the floor, and kisses him.  
  
Eames lets Cobb lick his own taste out his mouth as he ruts against Eames, cock dragging against the front of his sweats.  
  
“Off, off,” pants Cobb into his mouth, fingers pushing Eames’ grey tee to his armpits. He dives for Eames’ nipple, licking and sucking at it, hand going to play with the other one.  
  
Eames laughs, half at Cobb’s childish impatience, half because he’s squirming under Cobb’s tongue, “I’m ticklish,” he giggles, then groans when Cobb bites down hard. Cobb laughs at him then, pulling away, and pulls the shirt off.  
  
With his torso bared, Cobb licks at his skin, tracing the lines and indents of his muscles until he gets to the waistband of Eames’ sweatpants. He hooks his fingers under the elastic and pulls, making a small sound of surprise when Eames’ cock slaps against his jaw.  
  
Eames groans at that, because it’s such a hot sound and an even hotter sight.  
  
“Eames,” Cobb says, wrapping a hand around the length, sounding quite serious, “do you always make a habit of not wearing any underwear, especially around my kids?”  
  
“No,” gasps Eames, trying to get Cobb to stroke him by thrusting his hips into Cobb’s fist, “It’s just for today, I swear, now get back to work.”  
  
Satisfied, Cobb nods before swallowing him down and oh fuck, the feeling of Cobb’s wet mouth around him, tongue twisting patterns on the underside, is so good. He looks down to see Cobb slide down to meet his hand, throat closing briefly around the head of his cock before he gags, pulling back. He comes up, coughing, cheeks aflame and doesn’t give Eames time to say anything, to ask if he’s all right before he just goes back down.  
  
“Shit, Cobb, have you done this before?” asks Eames, groaning. He feels himself twitch at the sight of Cobb salivating around his cock, making it slick and shiny. Cobb grunts in reply and Eames throws his head back against the floor at the vibrations, “Okay, okay, yes, no more talking.”  
  
The hand curled around the base of his cock starts moving, stroking upwards, meeting Cobb’s lips half-way and the double sensation of Cobb’s slick mouth and his firm grip sends pleasure spiralling through him. He tightens his hold on Cobb’s hair, pulling him off, groaning, “Stop, _stop_ , Cobb, fuck.”  
  
He watches Cobb’s mouth drag off him, blue eyes looking up at him in question and growls low in his throat. “Come up here,” he says, pulling Cobb up towards him and into a kiss. With his hands, he urges Cobb to stand up, giving him a pointed look when Cobb stares at him, confused.  
  
Eames digs into the pocket of his sweatpants, still around his ankles, and pulls out a small tube of lube and a condom. He kicks the pants off and stands too, crowding Cobb against the wall and hiking a leg up around his waist.  
  
Cobb makes a small sound, lips searching for his, and they meet with a clash of teeth. Eames pulls back to nip at the end of Cobb’s nose then balances the condom packet on Cobb’s thigh and flips open the tube. Once he gets his fingers slick, he drops the tube to the side and goes for Cobb’s hole, fingers slipping against the rim.  
  
“Cold,” sighs Cobb, squirming, and it makes Eames laugh, nuzzling at his jaw. He rubs his fingers against Cobb’s hole, warming the lube between them.  
  
“I’m wondering,” voices Eames, pressing in just lightly, hearing Cobb hiss out a breath and feeling him tense against the intrusion, “has anything been here before?”  
  
“And I’m wondering,” says Cobb, hiking his leg up further on Eames’ waist, careful of the wrapper balancing precariously on it, “If we’re gonna fuck any time soon or just swap words.”  
  
“We can’t do both?” asks Eames, giving Cobb a cheeky grin.  
  
When Cobb shoots him a look of annoyance, he slips a finger in, watching the expression melt right off.  
  
“Relax,” murmurs Eames, moving his finger, watching Cobb’s face. He makes sure to spread the lube right around, pushing in deep and twisting his finger on the pull out. Another finger slips in with the first as he presses back in and he curls his fingers, watches Cobb jolt up against the wall in pleasure.  
  
“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” swears Cobb, one hand clawing at the wall above his head, the other digging into Eames’ shoulder. “Do that- nngh, _again_.”  
  
Eames smirks and keeps rubbing at Cobb’s prostate, loving the way he looks, body stretched out, dress shirt glued to him with sweat. He wiggles a third finger in for a stretch, biting hard on his bottom lip at how tight Cobb is around him and pulls out. He grabs the condom off Cobb’s thigh, ripping off the packaging and slips it on, rolling the rubber to the base.  
  
Cobb moves to turn around, leg moving off his waist but Eames stops him, fingers curling around his ankle. Cobb looks at him in confusion and Eames answers with a grin, lifting Cobb’s leg back up against his waist with a leer.  
  
“You’re kidding,” chokes Cobb with a look of disbelief.  
  
“I’m serious, love, I mean, you’ve seen my arms, right?”  
  
Cobb blanches at his words.  
  
“You don’t think I can do it?” asks Eames, hand smoothing down Cobb’s other thigh. Cobb bites his bottom lip, looking worried and Eames tries to kiss it away.  
  
“Okay,” says Cobb pulling away, “but you better not drop me,” and Eames lights up, feeling like Christmas has come early. He positions his cock at Cobb’s entrance and slides in first, eliciting a moan from Cobb. He thrusts a little, groaning at how Cobb clings to him on every pull out.  
  
“Ready?” he asks, licking a line up Cobb’s throat. Cobb grunts in response and swings his other leg up on Eames’ waist.  
  
Eames staggers slightly at the sudden shift in weight clinging to him, and pushes Cobb harder against the wall to help him. He shifts his hips, pushing up into the heat and Cobb shifts with him, mouth parted to moan.  
  
He holds tights to Cobb’s hips, feels Cobb digs his heels into his lower back and thrusts short and sharp into him. Cobb keens and whimpers in front of him, one hand on Eames’ shoulder, the other scrabbling against the painted surface while Eames keeps pushing him up against the wall, fingers digging into his hip.  
  
Eames bends his knees to change the angle and Cobb cries out, hitching up higher on the wall, eyes closed, and mouth open.  
  
“Fuck, _fuck_ , Eames, harder,” moans Cobb, hand sliding down his torso to grasp his cock, jerking himself off and Eames just keeps thrusting until Cobb tightens on him, white roping all over his own stomach and fingers.  
  
“Bloody- _fuck_ , Cobb,” swears Eames, stuttering in his pace, feeling the burn of supporting Cobb’s weight for too long. He lets Cobb’s legs down, pulling out to turn him around and slides right back in, hips slamming against Cobb’s ass.  
  
“C-C’mon, Eames,” pants Cobb, reaching back to touch his thigh, slicking come over his skin. Eames growls, grabbing the collar of Cobb’s dress shirt and pulls it down until Cobb’s arms are forced to come around to his back, shirt tying his wrists together. He thrusts a few more times before coming, mouthing at Cobb’s spine, letting the shirt go in favour of gripping his hips.  
  
They stay like that for a bit, Cobb’s hand braced on the wall to keep his face from it. Eames reaches around to palm his cheek in apology and slides out, fingers tight on the condom. He slips it off and ties it up, dropping it to the floor.  
  
“Bin, Eames,” scorns Cobb, turning around to rest his back against the wall, looking pretty fucked out and Eames can’t help but feel satisfied that _he_ was the one responsible for Cobb’s debauching. He rolls his eyes in response to Cobb’s reprimand but leans over, cupping his jaw to bring him into a kiss.  
  
When they pull apart, Cobb is still giving him a look and Eames sighs, bends to pick the condom up and moves to the kitchen.  
  
“You know,” says Cobb as he throws the condom out, making his way back, “it took you long enough.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Arthur told me,” says Cobb, raising an eyebrow, hand coming up to his mouth.  
  
“Arthur told you wh-” Eames’ brain short circuits at the sight of Cobb licking his hand clean, and he drops to his knees to lick at Cobb’s stomach.  
  
Cobb laughs, squirming, and puts a hand through Eames’ hair. “That you wanted to ‘hit’ me, Eames.”  
  
“That little shite,” scowls Eames, dragging his teeth down Cobb’s skin.  
  
“Don’t call Arthur a little shit, and you can’t be angry with him. He was doing what he thought was best.”  
  
“He could’ve told me straight out that you wouldn’t object, that he talked to you about this!”  
  
Cobb shrugs, “We’re here now, aren’t we?” He twists out of his shirt, grimacing at the wrinkles and sighs. He starts walking around, collecting his clothes, and Eames does the same, twitching at the awkwardness he feels. He doesn’t know what to do now- act casual, still friends? Something more?  
  
“Um,” he starts, shaking out his shirt, wondering how he should start this conversation.  
  
Cobb comes up to him with a smile and plucks his shirt from his hands, pulling it on. “Huh, you really are bigger than I am,” he says, looking down at how the shirt hangs loose on him.  
  
Eames just stares open mouthed at Cobb, because while the shirt might be a little loose on him, it’s not that much longer. In fact, it seems to be just the right length to barely cover his cock.  
  
Eames tilts his head to the side a bit more. “You should wear that shirt _all_ the time, Cobb,” he says, wondering what would have happened if he had decided to wear one of his normally tight t-shirts instead of the grey one.  
  
“Well, if they’re as comfortable as this one…” He smiles at Eames and beckons him close, and Eames goes, like a moth to a flame. “Tell me- what happens now? You’ve ‘hit’ me, and I didn’t object. So?”  
  
“So I think we take this to the bedroom,” answers Eames, threading their fingers together, “and I’ll court you properly, on a bed and all, before charming your kids into letting me kiss you in front of them.” He tugs Cobb towards his bedroom, a grin on his face.  
  
“My children already like you- though I’m not sure they’re quite ready to see another man kiss their daddy.”  
  
“But their daddy tastes so good,” murmurs Eames, tossing his clothes onto the floor when they reach the bedroom and Cobb does the same. He pushes Cobb onto his bed, crouches above him and kisses him, sweet and slow, cupping the side of his face and Cobb arches into it, licking against Eames’ tongue.  
  
The house phone trills, interrupting their kiss and Cobb flails, pushes Eames away to pick it up from his bedside table. “Phillipa? James? Why are you- what? Daddy’s here. No. Yes. Okay. Daddy will be there as soon as- Yes. Okay.” He hangs up to smile apologetically at Eames. “Looks like we have to reschedule, the kids need me to go get them back.”  
  
Eames groans and flops onto the bed. “Someone out there really hates me.”  
  
“You can fuck me on a Monday when the kids have school. For now, you get to sleep while I drive half an hour into the city,” frowns Cobb, getting up and Eames smacks his bare bottom, laughing when Cobb jolts forward.  
  
“How about we both get dressed and pick up the kids, you can sleep in the passenger seat while I drive.”  
  
Cobb ducks his head and smiles. He doesn’t bother taking off Eames’ shirt when he changes.


End file.
